


gimme all you got, babe

by Buttons15, lazy_universes



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14505918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buttons15/pseuds/Buttons15, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazy_universes/pseuds/lazy_universes
Summary: One night, one bar, differing principles. In which Angela is terrible with feelings, and Fareeha has her own frustrations to unload.





	gimme all you got, babe

_So, tell me what you wanna do_

_You say, the world, it doesn't fit with you_

_Why don't you talk to me, for just a little while?_

_I can only try to make it right_

 

* * *

 

 

She watched the liquid in her glass swirl, reflecting the shitty yellow room lighting. It was a shady bar, the worst she knew of, mostly because she didn’t want to be found. There was a lot of Guilt involved in the act of drinking, which together with her Eye-openers, her Annoying (or worried) social circle and her need to Cut it down made her a full blown, CAGE-d alcoholic.

She shouldn’t be doing doing that. She knew she shouldn't. She had been clean for nearly a year now, ever since she started dating Fareeha, and she couldn’t ignore the link between one thing and the other. This was, she thought, the first step towards their inevitable end. It was only a matter of time until her inability to deal with any feelings at all, and her conflicting feelings about Amari in particular blew up in her face.

And so there she was. A bar. A drink. She had a bottle of Dissulfiram on her pocket she could and should have taken, but didn’t. She was making bad decisions again. And while she was too smart to not recognize the clear traces of self-sabotage, part of her was relieved and oddly vindicated. Fareeha would know she’d been drinking, and she would be hurt.

That was good. Angela was hurt, too, and she wanted to deal damage back.

Or so she thought, right up to her third drink, when the woman herself walked into the bar. She didn’t feel satisfaction at the mixture of sadness and disappointment she saw. She couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but exhaustion.

Fareeha took a sit next to her, her glare enough to send the men surrounding her away. Angela didn’t make eye contact, instead finishing her drink and filling the glass with another dose. She didn’t try to stop her - whether that was a good or a bad thing was lost on her, the meaning of her omission drowned in the burn the alcohol left on her throat.

“Um…” Fareeha began. She was trying, bless her soul. As awkward as she was around sensitive subjects, she was there - and she was _trying_. She was a good person.

Angela hated her for it.

“So.”

Angela’s vision floated. She felt nauseous, though whether from the drinks or the situation, she couldn’t tell. “So.”

Fareeha sighed. “I don't know what to say. Did something happen? We- We should go home and talk.”

Something had happened, all right. She took an item from her pocket and slammed it on the counter. A picture, one corner soaked in dried blood, the edges rough and frayed. Angela searched her face for any hints of recognition, and when she found none, she yanked something from her own neck - a pair of dog tags - and placed them on top of the picture.

She was scared - angry, too, but mostly scared. The thought that death would be a release crossed her mind often enough, a constant background to each and every decision she took, like a choose your own adventure book where every branch of the story came with the option to _turn to page 38 to die._

Her stomach ached from the alcohol and she felt tears prickling the back of her eyelids, but was also keenly aware they were in a public place and she didn't want to make a scene. Fareeha put a hand on her shoulder - she flinched.

 _That_ hurt her, Angela could tell, just by the way she turned away abruptly and looked at the picture instead.

“Is it someone from work, sweetheart?” Fareeha whispered, moving closer but not touching her. “I'm sure you did your best, Angie. You know you can't save everyone.”

She was so well intentioned, Angela thought, and so very _wrong_. She had been a doctor for time enough that save for exceptionally brutal cases, she hardly shed a tear over the people she lost anymore. Death was as natural as birth, and rather than an enemy to be fought, she'd long learned to see it as merely a possible, sometimes even positive outcome. It was, after all, a way to ease the pain - one that every other day she very much desired to herself.

No, this was about something else entirely - a gap between the two, a clash of values so fundamental that looking at Fareeha in the eyes had become nearly unbearable, her feelings conflicting enough to drive her back to alcohol when not even the ghosts of her past returning from the dead had achieved that.

This wasn't about dying, she didn’t say. It was about killing. It was about holding a mother’s hand through nine months of pregnancy, about witnessing the miracle of life and how much joy it brought, and then going to bed with someone who undid that with the pull of a trigger.

She couldn't anymore. She just _couldn't._

“You shot him,” she said, and though for the sake of what they had she tried, she could not hide her disgust.

“I… what?”

“Where were you this afternoon, Fareeha?” her tone was more hostile than she intended, but by then she was on a row and she just needed to get it off her chest. “Were you not assigned to the same neighborhood I was, incidentally?”

“Well _yes_ , we had lunch together-"

“And then you got called into duty, right? Stop the bad guys! The rebels!” She slammed her glass on the counter, grabbed the bottle to refill it. Fareeha reached out to stop her. “Don't - don't you fucking touch me! You killed this person, Amari, you,” she tapped the man's face with her index finger. “You and your fucking - your little _militia_ , shoving their damn noses where they're not called for, do you even - do you even know what you're doing? Do you realize you're the arm to an authoritarian government, you're the hired muscle for  - _get away from me!”_ She stood, took a step back. “Do you even care?!”

 _Of course she cares,_ Angela thought, knowing she had drunk too much and said too much and did damage she was sure she could not undo. But it didn't change the fact that this woman - the woman whose touch and gentle smile she had grown to love - was also the hand pulling the trigger that killed that man. And how many others before him? How many orphaned little girls had been left bereft of love because of Fareeha’s hand? Angela vowed to heal and Fareeha vowed to kill, but had also vowed to love her unconditionally, and the fact that both the love of her life and the bane of her existence coexisted in a single person hurt her deeply in marrow of her bones.

She felt as if she had fallen for the Jekyll knowing Hyde, and though she had tried oh so hard, there was no ignoring she couldn’t love one and hate the other.

“I can't,” she said, and now she was crying and making the scene she didn't want to make, “I can't be with someone who takes a life at an order. I love you _so fucking much_ and I can't - I can't conceive - I rather die than take a life, Fareeha, and I can't bear the thought that you have blood in your hands, good intentions be damned. Nothing _,_ ” she grabbed the dog tags. “Nothing justifies this. Nothing makes this acceptable. Not justice, not order, religion or principles, _nothing_ is holier than a human life. And this is a choice - this is a - you chose this. You chose to be… a killer for hire, and I just don't understand _-_ ”

“Well, maybe it’s because not everyone is born _a fucking genius,_ doctor Ziegler!” Fareeha yelled out in frustration, tears staining her lovely brown cheeks. Angela recoiled - the bar went silent. “It’s fucking _grand_ of you to stay here and tell me about - honor, and choice, and _peace_ , when most people you save also made the choice to kill! Would you feel better if instead of him, I was the one who got buried tonight?”

Angela swallowed thickly, glass in hand. Fareeha rubbed her eyes harshly, groaning in hurt and anger and pain.

“I’m not the one to blame if we were born in a war,” she said, drained. “I know standing still won’t keep me alive. Or anyone else. That’s what I was raised to do, I don’t know how to do anything else.”

“Your mother didn’t-”

“ _Don’t_ bring my mother into this,” Fareeha raised a finger. “What she did or did not want means fuck _all._ I wanted to be a part of Overwatch and help save people’s lives, and she had a hand in the clusterfuck that tore all of that down. Do you think I- _like_ being with Helix? This is literally _nothing_ of what I wanted when I joined the army.”

She exhaled, then, shoulders slumping, the weight of the world on her backbone. “I don’t know what to do,” she said, weakly. “I don’t like this any more than you do, and yet I don’t know how to do anything else. I’m not - a smart cookie like you, never studied as you did living inside the base. Mama said she wanted me to have a different life and yet raised me to be a soldier,” she shrugged. “Maybe she didn’t know how else to raise me either. I don’t know. I bet if you wanted to quit everything and become a- I don’t know, a fucking _shepard_ , you’d be smart enough to best fucking shepard-”

“Stop saying you’re not smart,” Angela said, softly. Her fingers itched for the feel of her skin, but the gleaming eyes of the little girl glared at her from the blood-caked picture - she buried them on the flesh of her thigh instead.

“Well, am I?” Fareeha hissed. “Cause I sure as hell don’t feel really smart right now. I - when I - when I got into Helix I wanted to- Jesus, Angie, I guess I just wanted to help. And I did, you know, for a while, we stopped Anubis. I got my own squad.” She sat down, took a deep breath, wiped her tears. “All I ever wanted was to- to do _something_ , you know? Something big. Something that could help a lot of people. Like - like my mom did. And...” A pause. Fareeha gave her a meaningful look. “And you.”

 _Jesus,_ Angela thought, resisting the urge to drink herself into a comatose stupor.

“But when the UN started getting involved, you know-  you’re right, I mean, you always are,” Fareeha averted her eyes, embarrassed, “I’m not smart, but I’m not _stupid_ either. I know we’re not protecting the innocent. We’re covering the asses of people who are anything _but_ innocent. And I _know_ that, Angela, I do, but I just - I can’t help but feel in the end there’s nothing else for me, really. That people like me are always meant to be pawns to… to people like you.”

“Jesus fucking christ,” Angela exhaled, and she knew the matter was anything but simple. There was so much more to these words, so much more to Fareeha’s feeling of displacement, and she suddenly found herself walking her shoes. It wasn’t just that she had three PhDs and Fareeha was a high school graduate. It wasn’t just that she was a white european and Fareeha was not. It wasn’t _just._

It was anything but and yet everything at once, and she had lacked the empathy to _see._

“I wish you’d told me,” Fareeha whispered. “Angie, why didn’t you let me know how you felt before?”

“It didn’t seem fair,” Angela replied. “You’re- not a bad person. I’m not naive, Fareeha.” She took a deep breath. “I know what I want is not possible - this peace, my ideals, they’re just that. There’s always been war. I can live with the thought that it exists, knowing I will always oppose it. But I can’t - I can’t be with you, and, and be _myself_ at the same time, not when I know you’re there doing the _things_ -”  She cut herself short and sighed deeply. “And yet. This is your life, your calling. It would be terribly selfish of me to ask you to give up your life’s work because I can’t stomach it.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” Fareeha muttered, and now she was reaching for the bottle herself, drinking without bothering to use a glass. “Why do people always- You should have told me,” she frowned at the bottle, “Whatever I do with my life is up to me to decide, and when you keep that from me you… steal my choice, too. You don’t give me a chance to act for myself.” She scoffed, wryly. “And that’s getting real old by now, I suppose.”

 _Jesus_ , she thought once again. “You’re right.” She pushed her glass away. “I’m sorry. I’m - I’m a mess.”

“Yeah.” Fareeha snorted. Angela felt fingers brush against her hand, cover her own fingers with calloused palms. Something in her heart tightened.

“I don’t - I don’t want us to end,” she whispered, because it was true.

Fareeha squeezed her hand. “I don’t want that either. But I don’t know what to do. I don’t like where I am right now, but what’s left for me-”

“Did you ever think about going to college?” Angela blurted.

“What?” Fareeha asked, stunned.

“I mean,” Angela stuttered, uncertain, “I’m not saying you need to have a degree to be someone, but since you wanted something new, that could be a place to start-”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to,” Fareeha said, uncertain,”I’m saying- I’m not really saying anything,” she shrugged. “I never thought of it. I’m too old, I guess. And it costs a fortune.”

“None of that,” Angela said, sternly. “None of those are true. You’d do wonderful. Besides, I could help you out with-”

“Angie, don’t,” Fareeha said, “I appreciate it, but I really couldn’t ask-”

“Told you you shouldn’t question my gifts,” Angela said, gripping her hands tightly. “I’m not saying you have to. But if you want, that’s an option. And we can come up with other things you can try, just- Just as long as we do it together.”

“Together, alright,” Fareeha smiled, softly. “Together sounds good.”

She leaned towards Angela, lips touching slightly-

When a drunk man sitting in the corner started hollering.

“You go girl!” He yelled, clapping, “Love yourselves off!”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Angela mumbled, and Fareeha rubbed her eyes.

“Sir, with all due respect,” she said, wryly, “fuck off.”

Angela smiled, leaning on Fareeha’s chest and suddenly tired. The world was spinning, she was drunk, and she was sorry.

“I drunk fucked up again,” she mumbled, “Aren’t you tired of it by now?”

“Maybe,” Fareeha said, tucking one blonde strand behind her ear, “You always sober make it right though, so I don’t mind.”

“I drunk make up too, though,” She said, fumbling with her glass, “I guess you don’t mind when I drunk make up with you,” and Fareeha threw her head back in laughter - so free, wild and loving, Angela was reminded of why she loved her so much.

“I’m afraid there’ll be no drunk making up for you today, miss,” She said, fishing the glass out of Angela’s hand and wrapping her coat around her shoulders. “Come on, babe. Let’s go home.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> BUTTONS IS BACK BITCHES
> 
> HELLO YOU NERDS DO YOU SEE THAT PERSON OVER THERE ON THE AUTHOR SECTION
> 
> THAT IS MY FRIEND SNEK WHO WROTE THIS JUNK WITH ME
> 
> y'all she's wonderful we're best friends and you guys better check her stuff right now because it's so good I swear to god you won't be able to put it down I swear to god 
> 
> go read her stuff you cowards
> 
> and also be nice and drop her a comment here too cause she deserves it
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


End file.
